


put it on hold again

by LearnedFoot



Series: Call off the search for your soul or put it on hold again [1]
Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, Mrs. Fletcher (TV), Spider-Man (Tom Holland Movies)
Genre: Background Eve Fletcher/Julian Spitzer, Background Peter Parker/Tony Stark, Crossover, Crossover Pairings, Developing Friendship, Developing Relationship, Friends With Benefits, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-22
Updated: 2020-03-22
Packaged: 2021-02-28 23:13:30
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,361
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23255257
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LearnedFoot/pseuds/LearnedFoot
Summary: Five times Julian helped Peter Parker.
Relationships: Julian Spitzer/Peter Parker
Series: Call off the search for your soul or put it on hold again [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1791730
Comments: 11
Kudos: 18
Collections: All The Nice Things Flash Exchange 2020





	put it on hold again

**Author's Note:**

  * For [intoxicatelou](https://archiveofourown.org/users/intoxicatelou/gifts).



> I really hope this is something like what you were looking for with this lovely crossover pair! Title is from ["No. 1 Party Anthem" by Arctic Monkeys](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=mGUjVbsYG6E). (Thanks for introducing me to this song with your prompt, I've basically been listening to it nonstop while writing this!)
> 
> Let’s say that _Mrs. Fletcher_ happened in the months before _Infinity War_. Cool? Cool. Thanks.
> 
> Also AU re: Tony’s _Endgame_ death in ways that I think will become apparent.

_1._

They met during the late shift. Peter—not that Julian knew him as Peter, then—dashed into the pharmacy, grabbing ace bandages and disinfectant. He was startling, unusual, with a poetic precision to his movements nothing like the dazed late-night workers and sloppy drunks they usually got at that hour.

When he stumbled to the front of the store, tossing his purchases at the counter and fishing a crumpled twenty from the pocket of a battered Stark Industries sweatshirt, Julian was struck by two things: the blood smeared across his face, and how striking that face was. They were almost equally surprising realizations, the jolt of attraction that shot through his stomach an echo of what he felt for Eve—something he had, in his most love-struck moments, been convinced he would never feel for anyone else.

 _Almost_ equally surprising, because as strange as he found attraction at first sight, bloodied hoodies were even more unusual. The injuries clearly weren’t the result of a schoolyard fight; even Brendan at his worst didn’t provoke the kind of anxiety Julian felt rolling off the figure in front of him. The weirdest part was this beautiful, bleeding boy was young, probably younger than Julian. Too young for whatever he had gotten himself into.

“Hey, are you okay?” Julian asked as he rang the items up.

The kid let out a desperate laugh—almost a bark, but too high for that description to fit.

“Um. Not exactly.” His voice was high, too, strain running through each syllable. “Actually, do you know someplace where I could, uh, clean up real quick? Just, like, an alley, or a park, or…I don’t really know. What do you have in suburbs? I don’t usually do suburbs.”

Julian looked around the empty store, then at his phone. Past midnight, worth the risk. Worst case, he got fired. It was a shitty job anyway.

“How about the back room?”

***

The kid, who claimed his name was “Ned” with such hesitation Julian was sure it was a lie, insisted on patching himself up alone, so Julian left him. It was stupid, an open invitation to theft, but he trusted him, for no reason other than he seemed like he really was in trouble. Besides, if the whole thing was an elaborate ruse to steal from corporate, he’d earned it.

Julian passed the time by scrolling through his text chain with Eve, trying to decide if he should message her again, despite the deafening non-response to the texts he’d already sent, one a day since Brendan butt his nose in and ruined everything. (Okay, one a day other than the first day. That had been more like ten.) He wanted to tell her: _Hey, you won’t believe what just happened_. She’d have a theory, spin crazier and crazier tails about the mystery kid with the bloody face, until they were both laughing, uncontrollable and fond.

“Who’s Eve?”

He jumped. “Ned” had managed to sneak up behind him, reading over his shoulder.

“No one.” Realizing this was an odd conversation to be having with a bruised and beaten stranger, he added, “It’s weird to sneak up on people.”

“Yeah, _that’s_ what’s weird about me,” “Ned” replied with a charmingly self-effacing grin. “I bet the rest of this has been super normal for you.”

Julian found himself returning the smile. “Sure, of course. Happens every day.”

“Ned” bounced on his heels, mouth stretching even wider, delighted with the response.

“Well, thanks,” he suddenly burst out before dashing toward the door, faster than seemed possible. “And good luck with Eve!”

It seemed like a sign. Julian sent the text.

She responded.

_2._

Eve was hesitant, interested, scared but passionate. It felt like they were going to get there. Julian didn’t know what “there” was, exactly. An expansive future, frightening and seductive, like speeding down the open highway at two in the morning, road rolling out in front of you forever.

Then suddenly: they both were gone, and then both back, but the world was a different place. The enormity of it was too much wrap yours hands around, so it was easier to focus on the small differences. Except for Eve, even the small differences weren’t small at all, because there was Brendan, five years older, with a wife and kid, and a personality improved enough that he apologized, unprompted, when he ran into Julian at an impromptu welcome back reunion their high school thought it was a good idea to throw. It even seemed sincere.

It was all very nice, and all very shocking, and all very heartbreaking, and there was no room for Julian while Eve relearned her life, not this time around. He understood, kissed her hand, her cheek, her lips: absolved her of picking her family, even though there had never been a question. They meant so much to each other, but not as much as that.

And then he left, because what exactly was keeping him there? College was cheaper, after everything. He wasn’t callous enough to call that a silver lining, but it gave him an excuse. He moved to Brooklyn, found a small apartment, crappy and rundown, but his. He started school. He told himself it was fine, he’d been through worse.

This was fine.

***

Then Spider-Man’s face was all over TV, and he thought, _Oh, that makes sense now_.

He followed the news, obsessive. Everyone did. Gleeful speculation became a city-wide pastime. Did you believe it? Was it really him? Did he really _kill_? People were out for blood, pent up fear that had never truly settled suddenly bubbling to the surface, explosive, ire aimed at Peter because some asshole made him a target. Easy as that.

Julian didn’t believe a word of it. Obviously the identity was right—he knew that even before Peter went on TV to confirm it, blinking unhappily at a mob of reporters as he stumbled through his statement. But there was no way to reconcile the kid Julian had met, fumbling and desperate in the harsh light of a late-night pharmacy aisle, with the person the Bugle blared about in their headlines: egotistical madman clawing at the place of a national hero, his _mentor_ , ruthlessly chasing Tony Stark’s throne even as the hero clung to life in a coma.

It bothered him more than it should. He didn’t have any claim to Peter, but he was offended to see his name smeared. Not the general sort of offence he took at distant injustices, but sharp and gnawing, as if this was personal. As if the world was attacking someone he knew.

“Well, you do know him,” Margo pointed out when he explained it to her. They kept in touch, when she came into the city for writing events. He hadn’t meant to bring Peter up at this particular coffee date, but she asked his opinion about the Beck murder, and he found the whole thing spilling out before he could stop himself. “You met. There was a bond. Even brief connections have meaning.”

“Yeah, I guess.” He couldn’t find a way to put into words the pull he felt toward the stranger he saw on TV every day. The flashes he got—when Peter let his guard drop a moment too early, brave mask slipping before he turned away from the cameras—of something familiar, a hollow fear in the eyes, like the world was too much. Margo had seen Julian inside out, soul spilled sloppily on the pages of her class, but even knowing that, he didn’t want to tell her that he felt like he understood a superhero. It was too self-aggrandizing. “I just feel bad for him. I wish I could help.”

Margo tilted her head, considering. Then, with a smile: “Maybe you can. Everyone needs support.”

***

Margo put Julian in touch with a friend who worked for one of the Bugle’s rivals, and somehow he found himself as part of a viral video in support of Spider-Man, one of many voices, each sharing their experiences of the good he’d done, the hope he’d given the city.

Julian’s story was short, just a few lines, but for some reason the editor ended the whole thing on a shot of him, staring directly into the camera as he said, “I looked him in the eyes. I don’t know how else to put it. I looked him in the eyes, and he’s not a murderer.”

He felt silly, watching himself back. But maybe, somewhere out there, Spider-Man would see. If he did, if it made him feel less alone for a second, Julian would count that as a success.

_3._

They met for real almost a year later, near the end of Julian’s second year at his new college. He was smoking outside of a party, considering leaving; it was still early, but he was so deep in Queens it was going take an hour to get home, and college parties hadn’t clicked any better than high school ones. No one bullied him, but they didn’t know him either, and it was lonely to stand around watching other people have fun. He felt like he was disappointing Eve, wasting her lesson about how easy it is to walk up to someone and start a conversation, but he hadn’t found himself inclined try. Not that night, not most nights.

Just as he was gearing up to start feeling really sorry for himself, his thoughts were interrupted by a voice from above.

“Those things will kill you, you know.”

His head snapped up, taking in maybe the strangest thing he’d ever seen: Peter Parker, in an ill-fitting button-down and jeans, clinging to the side of the apartment building. With a grin, Peter launched himself into the air, flipped, and landed in front of him, snatching his cigarette from his hand as he went.

Julian stared. There was absolutely no way he was going to be able to come up with a response to that, so he didn’t try.

“I know you,” Peter said, tossing the cigarette to the ground and stomping it out. “From that video last year. And the suburbs. It’s crazy we’re at the same party, right? Well, maybe not the _same_ one? I’m at the one with the really loud music on the fifth floor. Anyway, I was outside getting some air because, seriously, it’s _really_ loud, and I saw you, and I was like, _I know him_. And now here I am, and—” He thrust his hand out. “Hi. I’m Peter.”

It was a lot of words at once. Julian was normally put on edge by people that eager; it felt like either they knew a secret to happiness he would never have access to, or they were hiding something. But he already knew what Peter was hiding, the whole world did. It made his enthusiasm endearing. It was an act of bravery, seeming so cheerful when half the city still hated him, no matter what Tony Stark, recently awoken from his coma, had to say about it.

Julian took his hand. “Julian.”

Peter’s grip was strong, but, yeah, it would be. “I know,” he said, earnestly. “That video really meant a lot.”

“Good.” Julian dropped the shake, and then felt awkward, not sure what to do with his hands. It was easier before Spider-Man stole his cigarette, which was a thing that had just happened to him. He felt his face heating a little, and was suddenly glad it was dark. “I just wanted to help.”

Peter observed him, considering. Julian wondered what he saw. Whatever it was must’ve been good, because suddenly he asked, “Do you want to help some more? Because I could really use a drink. _Not_ at a party.”

Julian felt himself grin.

***

“You could _definitely_ write a book about that.” Peter was drunk, almost knocking over his fourth vodka soda of the night as he leaned into Julian’s space. “Or like, a sitcom? You slept with your high school bully’s mom, that’s like, the _ultimate_ revenge fantasy.”

“It wasn’t about that!” Julian protested.

“Yeah, yeah, I know.” And the strange thing was, he did—he was totally aware of the ins and outs of Julian’s pain. He was Spider-Man, and Julian had known him for about two hours, and yet they were already here, trading stories, hearts opened wide on the sticky bar. “I’m just saying, people would read that. If I slept with Flash’s mom, his head would explode.”

He made a gesture, miming brains going everywhere. Julian laughed. He would say it was hard to imagine Spider-Man being bullied in high school, but, having met him, it was actually very easy to picture. It made Julian like him more.

“Well, never say never. Speaking from experience, older women make excellent lovers.”

Peter snorted. It wasn’t an attractive sound, except that it managed to be cute, so it kind of was. “I cannot believe you just used the word ‘lover.’” His eyes went unfocused, and he sat straighter, suddenly downing the rest of his glass. “Besides, I’m not interested in older women.”

The way he said it, the emphasis didn’t fall on _older_. Julian raised an eyebrow. “Oh yeah?”

“I don’t want to talk about it.”

Okay. So that hadn’t just been a way to hint he was into guys. There was _a_ guy. Julian filed that information away for another day, if he got another day with Peter. He hoped he would. He was curious, about that, about _him_. He didn’t make friends easily, but this felt like it could be a friendship.

He laughed at himself as soon as he had the thought. Talk about self-aggrandizing. It was absurd, passing over all the other normal college kids in favor of Spider-Man, as if he had something to offer a superhero. That didn’t make it feel any less natural.

“Not talking about it, got it.” He wondered if the _it_ they weren’t talking about was something fresh, maybe even current. Probably, if Peter didn’t want to share after he’d already opened up about lost parents and falling to pieces on an alien planet, things Julian suspected he hadn’t told many people before. If it was, then it was another thing they had in common: longing for someone else. “You have another topic in mind, or should I pick?”

The gaze that met his was shy. “Or…instead of talking we could go find somewhere to make out?”

Or that. Yes.

The craziest part of the whole night was not those words, but the look that accompanied them: eyes wide, mouth a surprised circle, like Peter couldn’t believe he’d worked up the guts to say it. _Peter Parker_ , and he was clearly afraid Julian would turn him down.

Julian didn’t normally care about people being powerful. It wasn’t a trait he found particularly attractive, and it wasn’t what made him accept Peter’s invitation instantly. But he had to admit, having Spider-Man look at him like he could make or break his night was pretty damn surreal.

***

They went to the roof of the tallest building on the block, Julian clinging to Peter as he scaled the side. It was thrilling to be sped up a brick wall at unnatural speed; almost as thrilling as the brush of Peter’s lips under the stars, the sloppy, fumbling joy of finding someone to touch, who wanted to be touched, who made sense in a world where almost nothing did.

_4._

They only kissed, that night. And the next one, too, a few days later, passing a joint as they perched on the top of a skyscraper (Julian’s request: he liked the view, and the cold wind pushing hair into his face).

“Can’t these kill you, too?” Julian asked, surprised, when Peter pulled the drugs out of his back pocket. It seemed incongruent with the clean-cut image he projected not just to the press—murder accusations aside—but in person, all that bright energy.

“Maybe,” Peter admitted, “but it helps with my senses.”

Julian got that. Not what it felt like to have your nerves on fire, obviously, but he understood wanting to dull the edge. He told Peter he understood, because that’s what they did: they told each other things. Told each other things and kissed.

Not bad, as new friendships go.

***

It stayed like that for weeks. Kissing and swapping secrets. Peter eventually confessed that the thing he hadn’t wanted to talk about that first night was Tony Stark ( _That makes sense, too_ , Julian thought, because it had stopped surprising him to find new ways he and Peter were similar). In return, Julian told him about getting so drunk he vomited out the side of Eve’s car. They laughed at each other and kissed some more, and maybe managed to forget all that, at least for a little while.

Eventually, they started swapping more than secrets and memories. It became stories about their day, complaints about classes and crappy jobs, silly memes—all the stupid shit you’re supposed to share with friends. Julian had never had a friend to share that kind of thing with before. It made him feel normal, even with the kissing and the fact that his new friend also shared updates about stopping crimes and hanging out with Captain America.

After all, being friends with minor benefits with Spider-Man had to be more normal than no friends his own age at all, right?

***

One day, a few weeks in, Peter put his hand on Julian’s chest, gently pushing his away from a languid, luxurious kiss.

“Do you, um, do you maybe want to do more?” He was shy, in a way he hadn’t been since that first night. “I mean, I’m not all cool and experienced like you. Actually, I’m not really experienced at all, but I’d like to be? And you’re really nice, and I thought you could like…teach me?” His face did a complicated thing where it crinkled like he was wincing at himself. “Sorry, that was a terrible come on.”

Julian let himself laugh, because yeah, it kind of was. But it was also sweet, and it wasn’t like the idea hadn’t crossed his mind in the last few weeks. It had crossed his mind a lot. In fact, he’d been trying to figure out how to bring it up himself without pressuring. But now Peter had made the first move, which meant Julian had permission to pull him into a kiss, whispering, “How about we go to my room?”

Not that he was cool and experienced, either, not really. But, yeah, he would teach Peter what he knew. The rest they could learn together.

***

They took it slow, unfolding over weeks, because what was the rush?

It started with hands, exploring. Peter was like a live wire, trembling at the lightest touch, easy to bring over the edge by tweaking his nipples or sucking fast-fading marks onto those insane abs. Julian took a little more work, but Peter didn’t seem to mind, delighting in licking his way down his spine, wrapping long fingers around his dick, letting Julian guide him as he stroked.

Eventually, Peter moved from fingers to lips, sputtering and gagging the first time he tried to suck Julian all the way down. But he didn’t give up, and it wasn’t long before he could take him deep, humming contently and doing absolutely wild things with his tongue.

Julian learned that particular skill, too. It was so different than going down on a woman; Peter wasn’t all that big, smaller than Julian, but he was still heavy in his mouth, an intrusion that took getting used to. The satisfaction he got at making him come, though—the thrill of his breathy moans and the way his body went stiff as he reached his peak—that was the same as it was with anyone else. It felt good to make him feel good. A cliché sentiment, but Julian didn’t mind being a cliché, sometimes. 

***

He texted Amanda about it. They hadn’t talked much since he moved to New York, but he thought she’d be proud. He didn’t mention that his new hookup was Spider-Man, but he did mention the man part.

 _Hell yeah!_ she wrote back, followed by a list of resources _for dick-related lovin’._

 _Just be your normal eager-to-please self_ , she added. _You’ll do great_.

***

The first time they had sex, Peter was on the bottom. He said he was scared of what would happen if he lost control while he was on top, even though he had never had any problems keeping his strength in check in the bedroom before. Julian could think of several ways that could go wrong in this particular configuration, too, but he didn’t mention it. He trusted Peter, and he had a sense he was using his powers as an excuse. Peter was a willingly open book to Julian in so many ways, but one thing he wasn’t very good at was admitting he wanted to be taken care of.

That was okay. Julian was happy to do it anyway.

He did all the prep steps Amanda’s many links had told him about, the fingers and the stretching, exploring until he found the spot that made Peter arch off the bed, coming in an instant. Which was fine; it hadn’t taken them long to figure out Peter’s hair trigger was accompanied by a stamina that impressed even Julian, who thought of himself as pretty good in that department.

By the time Julian lined himself up, he was so hard from watching Peter, flushed and squirming, he worried he wouldn’t last. Then Peter looked up at him, eyes warm, smiling like this was all the best thing ever, and worry transformed into certainty: he definitely wouldn’t last. No way.

“I don’t know if this is going to be very good,” he warned, dick grazing Peter’s entrance.

Peter shrugged in reply, smile somehow getting even bigger. “Doesn’t matter, it’s already amazing.”

Julian smiled back, because yeah, it really was.

_5._

They got better at the sex; Peter even worked up the courage to try topping, and didn’t lose control. It was great, and it was easy, and neither of them ever talked much about what it was. They weren’t sleeping with other people—not so much a promise as a simple fact that neither particularly wanted to change—but they didn’t say _forever_ , either. Didn’t even pretend at it.

And then: Tony Stark and Pepper Potts announced they were getting divorced. When Julian asked Peter how he felt about it, he just curled in on his knees and whispered, “It doesn’t make a difference.”

He sounded so sad. Julian wanted to tell him that maybe it _would_ make a difference, eventually. Divorce opens people up to new ideas, creates an impulse to try new things. He would know.

Speaking of, only a week later, Eve reached out to him. It was because of Amanda. She’d come into the city to meet Julian’s “new man,” and apparently the discovery that the new man was actually _Spider-Man_ was too much to keep to herself. Eve was jealous. Not that she said it, but Julian wasn’t dumb. He understood what a text out of the blue “just to say hello” meant.

He didn’t reply. He wasn’t trying to punish her. At least, he didn’t think so; he hoped he wasn’t that cruel. He just knew that as soon as he sent that text, it would mean something, it could change things, and right now, Peter was sad and lonely and Julian made him happy. He made Julian happy. He didn’t want to change that.

It wasn’t forever, but whatever it was, he wasn’t ready for it to be over. Not yet.

***

“You know you’re not going to lose me, right?” Julian murmured into the back of Peter’s neck a few nights later, picking up a conversation from earlier in the evening, when he’d admitted Eve texted him, and Peter had tried to insist he text her back. “No matter what.”

“Hmm,” Peter hummed, sounding content. “You don’t have to say that. We both knew what this was when we started.”

Julian shook his head, pulling Peter tighter. He enjoyed the slim solidness his body, the smell of adrenaline that came off him like no one else he’d ever met. It gave him a buzz, even in moments like this, quiet and intimate.

“Not like that,” he corrected. “I know we might not always...” No need to put crude words to something that felt a little beyond words. He let the implication, what they might not always do, speak for itself. “But you’re my friend. I don’t want to stop being your friend.”

“Oh. Duh, dude, I know that.” Peter twisted, smile bright and dazzling. Julian was smart enough that he hadn’t fallen in love with Peter, not fully, but that smile would always own a little portion of his heart. It wasn’t a frightening thought; once, it would have been, but now he felt like he had enough room in there to spare. “And, same. I fully expect to be in your wedding party after you _text Eve back_.”

Julian laughed, letting that thought strum through him, imagining walking down the aisle; a fantasy, but one Peter gave him the confidence to believe could maybe, just maybe, be real. He hoped he made Peter feel the same way: like he could have everything he wanted, the whole world falling into place, perfect. Because right now, more than anything, what Julian wanted was to be there for him, to celebrate the good news when it came, to put him back together if it didn’t.

“You’re the one who’s going to marry a billionaire,” he replied, taking a moment to kiss that smile. He could taste the joy in it. “I want to be in _your_ wedding. That bachelor party will be out of control.”

Peter giggled, and then they were kissing, tender and confident, sure that no matter how the rest of their lives unfolded, fantasies blossoming into reality or tying them in knots, they would have each other to help.


End file.
